Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
by Pen Name Is Invalid
Summary: Stiles was dead. The person who had been his best friend for years was just... gone. Gone forever, and Scott couldn't handle it.


_Do not stand at my grave and weep,_  
_I am not there; I do not sleep._  
_I am a thousand winds that blow,_  
_I am the diamond glints on snow,_  
_I am the sun on ripened grain,_  
_I am the gentle autumn rain._  
_When you awaken in the morning's hush_  
_I am the swift uplifting rush_  
_Of quiet birds in circling flight._  
_I am the soft starlight at night._  
_Do not stand at my grave and cry,_  
_I am not there; I did not die._  
_-_ Mary Frye

Stiles was dead. It hadn't been how Stiles had always said he was going to die if he continued to associate himself with a pack of werewolves: bloody, mauled beyond recognition, and hanging from a tree in the middle of the woods. According to a phone call from his father, Stiles had suffered something similar to what had caused his mother's death. He had been found laying in his bed, unconscious and on the brink of death.

Scott had been on his way to meet up with the rest of the pack when he received the phone call that Stiles was in the hospital. He should have known something was wrong from the way the Sheriff's voice cracked.

The moment the words "Stiles is in the hospital" had left the Sheriff's mouth, Scott knew something had been deadly wrong. He had been half tempted to just go to the hospital and abandon the pack, but he knew the others deserved to know just as much as he did.

So he ran the rest of the way, pushing down the painful sting that was rising up in his chest. He didn't understand why this was happening. Why did it have to be Stiles of all people? His best friend. The stinging became stronger, and Scott's strength was tumbling.

He made his way to Derek's loft, and he could hear the calm heartbeats of his back, and his own heart broke. Scott pounded on the door roughly, leaving dents in the metal. Isaac had been the one to open the door, and the moment they saw him, they knew something was wrong. Of course they knew! His heart was beating a mile a minute and he looked on the verge of tears, not to mention he dented the iron door by his relentless knocking.

The rest of the pack stared at him. He could sense their panic as they stared at each other, waiting for one of them to move or speak.

Isaac was the one who recovered first, and asked, "Scott? What happened?"

Scott let out a shaky breath. "It's Stiles. He's in the h-hospital. His dad said he won't last much longer."

Scott didn't really know what to expect. None of the other werewolves had ever treated Stiles like he had been anything special, but the moment those words left his lips, they all froze. Scott could hear the hearts start to pick up speed. He was actually very surprised and stunned, despite everything.

Derek was the first to move, pushing past Scott and running out the door, obviously heading for the hospital. The rest of them seemed to snap into action, following after Derek quickly. Their pained expressions and fast sprints proved to Scott something he hadn't previously been sure of: they all cared for Stiles, far more than they were willing to ever admit.

The pack had opted to run to the hospital. They were just as fast as a car, and it was less of a hassle. Scott glanced at them, relieved that they seemed to care so much. He still had a hard time grasping the concept. He pursed his lips and continued to run.

They didn't slow down, not even when the Beacon Hills Hospital was in sight. They only stopped the moment they walked through the doors. Scott immediately searched for his mother in the sea of people. When he found her, she was making her way to him, practically running. She pulled Scott into her arms, clutching him tightly and whispered reassuringly in his ear. Her eyes were red and puffy, tears threatening to spill out.

Scott untangle himself from her, and looked into her eyes hopefully. "Mom, is he...?"

His mother shook her head and smiled softly. "He's still alive, and he's awake too. You should go talk to him before the visiting hours are over."

Scott nodded mutely and followed her as she ducked through a few halls. The rest of the pack shuffled along behind them silently. She led them to a large white room, and Scott could see people inside.. Stiles' father, Lydia, and Allison were already in the room. Lydia was crying into Allison's shoulder, and the brunette was rubbing her back soothingly. His father was holding Stiles hand as if he might break it with a single touch. He stood and walked out when he noticed them walk through the door, deciding to give them some privacy.

Stiles was smiling softly, staring at them. He looked so pale and the bags under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. His eyes looked dull and empty, almost lifeless as he stared. He looked skinnier than usual. Sickly. Tubes and needles were sticking out of his arms, pumping medicine into his body to keep his strength up. It pained Scott, and all of them as well, to see him in such a state.

Stiles was always so energetic and full of life. To see him so weak and fragile left Scott with a painful twist in his stomach.

When Scott walked inside, five other werewolves following behind him, Stiles turned to look at them. He grinned. Despite everything, Stiles still had enough in him to grin at them, almost happily.

"Stiles." Scott muttered, tears building in his eyes. He had a right to cry, and he didn't care who was watching him. He was about to lose his best friend after all.

"Aw, come on Scott, Don't tell me you're gonna cry too? It's bad enough with Lydia crying, I don't need the waterworks from you too." Stiles teased, leaning back into the pillow. He winced, as if the small movement caused him a lot of pain.

"Stiles, this isn't funny." Scott frowned, walking over to his friend. He placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder gently, as if afraid he was made of glass. "You, you're gonna make it through this, okay?"

Stiles let humorless laugh. "Scott buddy, you just have to face the fact that this is one battle you can't win. It's fine. I'm cool with dying, I guess." He lifted his shoulders slowly in a shrug, but Scott could see the fear in his eyes, he could sense it.

"No! I won't just sit down and let this happen." Scott bit out, looking back at Derek who remained strangely quiet throughout the whole ordeal. "Do something! You can give him the bite or something!"

"Scott, don't."

"I could, but I doubt it would work at this point. Scott, he's dying, we can all sense it." Derek admitted solemnly, unable to look Stiles in the eye.

"We can't just sit around and watch him die! We have to try something!" Scott demanded, his eyes burning holes into Derek.

"Scott, stop it."

Scott ignored Stiles. "Isaac, Boyd, Erica? What do you have to say? What about you Jackson? I mean, I know you never liked Stiles, but not even you can just let him die!"

"No, of course not!" Erica called back, tears pouring out of her eyes.

"Scott!"

Scott blinked, turning around to face Stiles, who had exerted a lot of energy to yell that loudly. His breathing was ragged and harsh, coming out in short pants. "Just stop. I get that you don't want me to die, but you can't go blaming everyone for something that isn't their fault."

"But Stiles," Scott muttered softly, his eyes lingering on the ground.

"No buts Scott," Stiles smiled weakly. "I'm sorry it had to end this way. Derek's right, it's too late for me, but hey, at least we had fun right?"

It was then that Lydia stopped crying and turned to face him. "You shut up, Stiles Stilinski. I don't understand how you could be so calm about dying!"

"Lydia, I'm being realistic. I'm not calm actually! I'm freaking out right now, more than any of you!" Stiles exclaimed, his voice raising only slightly.

Scott's mother peaked through the door, a forlorn look on her face. "Scott, I'm sorry but visiting hours are over. You and your friends need to leave before someone calls security and forces you guys out."

"I understand mom." Scott nodded sadly. "We'll leave in a second."

She nodded glanced at Stiles before ducking out of the room.

Lydia walked up to Stiles and gave him a soft hug. She pulled back and kissed his forehead, which was very clammy. "You're such an idiot." She mumbled.

Allison smiled and reached down to hug him. Her eyes were swelling with unshed tears. Despite everything that had happened, she had developed a friendship with Stiles, and she would miss him dearly.

Boyd placed a large hand on his shoulder and nodded sadly. Stiles grinned back at him.

Jackson mumbled an apology for all he had done to him throughout the years, but he didn't touch Stiles. He didn't have to. His pained expression spoke a thousand words.

Byt the time Erica had her arms around him, she was sobbing.

"So am I still a great Batman?" He asked her teasingly.

She kisses his cheek and gave him a sad smile. "The best."

Derek was amazingly the second to last. He stared at Stiles for some time, his mouth opening and closing, searching for the right words. He decided on, "I'm sorry, I wish could help you. Maybe if I had realized it sooner I could have..."

Stiles shrugged again. "No use crying over spilled milk, dude."

"I'm going to miss you." Derek blurted out. Stiles stared at him for a second, completely and utterly gobsmacked about the fact that Derek actually admitted something so personal in front of all their friends. He blushed.

"Yeah, I'll miss you too, man."

Derek placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder for a second, lingering there, and then he made room for Scott, who looked worse than Erica and Lydia combined.

"Stiles I-I'm sorry. This all my fault. I should be able to fix this. I can't just let you die." Scott launched himself as Stiles, coiling around the sick boy like he was a lifeline. A few tears spilled out of Scott's eyes, and Stiles began tearing up too.

"Scott I told you that this wasn't your fault." Stiles mumbled soothingly, wrapping his arms around the boy. "When I'm gone I don't want you to blame yourself."

Stiles looked at his friends, and smiled fondly, the wetness of his tears sticking to his eyelashes. "That goes for all of you, am I clear? This wasn't your fault, for once. Now get out of here, I need to sleep and I don't want security to kick you out. Even though I'd like to see them try."

Everybody filed out of the room and Scott waved as Stiles, who was wiping the stray tears away. Stiles grinned and waved back. When his father entered the room, Scott ducked his head and made his way out.

Two days later, Stiles went into a coma and all his organs began to shut off. He was hooked up to a multitude of machines that just barely managed to keep him alive. According to the doctors, he would never wake up.

His father pulled the plug the next morning.

Living without Stiles was difficult, and all of them had gone through the first two days feeling numb and empty. Scott supposed it was because none of them could believe Stiles was gone; they couldn't accept it.

He went to school, where they paid a tribute to Stiles Stilinski and all his achievements and successes.. A lot of people cried, Scott included. Allison was there to comfort him, and for that he was grateful.

It was on the day of the funeral where everything went to hell.

Scott stood in front of a mirror, clad in a suit. He could have sworn he had bags under his eyes, despite the fact that his powers made that impossible. His hair was a mess and his eyes were dull and empty.

His mother came up behind him, and reassuringly placed a hand on his shoulder. Unlike Scott, she did have prominent bags under her eyes. "Come on, Scott. We have to go now."

Scott nodded, and following his mother into the car. The ride to the funeral home was silent and tense.

They had invited all of them, and each of them had showed up in dark clothes and with melancholic expressions. Lydia had puffy, red eyes again. As did Allison.

The service had been comprised of close friends, seeing as Stiles didn't have a family, beside his father. Scott realized that his father was no all alone. No wife. No son.

He knew it was a bad idea to go up to see Stiles' body, but he did it anyway. He looked pale, and sickly, just as he had in the hospital. He almost looked like he was sleeping, and that any second now he would pop up, spouting nonsense about weird dreams.

He couldn't help it. He cried.

Behind him, Scott could make out other people crying. Erica. Lydia. Allison. Isaac. When he turned around he could see even Boyd and Jackson had unshed tears in their eyes. Oh, and Derek, Derek looked like an absolute wreck. He looked like he was seconds away from breaking down, but he was trying to keep it together.

Derek walked up next to Scott, and glanced down at Stiles, He absent mindedly reached out and stroked his cheek. "This is all my fault."

"No it isn't," Scott assured him. "Remember Stiles wanted us not to blame ourselves. It was practically his dying wish."

Derek gripped the edge of the coffin. His teeth were ground together and there was a fire in his eyes. "I didn't even try to give him the bite. I could have at least tried."

"Derek he didn't blame you. Stiles didn't blame any of us, actually." Scott mumbled, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes. He tugged Derek away from the coffin. "Come on, let's go."

Derek was right though, Scott realized. They didn't even try. A dull sting found it's way to Scott's heart, and he pushed the unnecessary guilt down. Stiles had also been right though, it wasn't their fault. Stiles had accepted his fate, and he wanted the others to do the same.

Stiles was dead. The person who had been his best friend for years was just... gone. Gone forever, and Scott couldn't handle it.

Scott fought the tears welling up in his eyes.

* * *

A/N - Just so nobody thinks I stole this off Ao3, I posted this there a few hours ago, on my account schizophrenicMarionette.


End file.
